Mirror, Mirror
by Alec Dunmore
Summary: It may have started off as a mundane phrase Alec had overheard somewhere, but it was now a question that, for the past hour, had been echoing endlessly within the recesses of his mind.
_A/N: This was supposed to be super angsty, but like a dead body in a body of water, it began to float. Oh well._

* * *

 _Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the stupidest Nephilim of all_?

It may have started off as a mundane phrase Alec had overheard somewhere, but it was now a question that, for the past hour, had been echoing endlessly within the recesses of his mind.

He stood in front of the ancient full-length mirror in the corner of his room – all scratched and worn-away wood from years of neglect – and scowled at the man gazing back at him. His appearance left much to be desired; his hair dishevelled from frustrated fingers, white shirt untucked and wrinkled, a loose bowtie hanging unevenly around his neck. He caught a glimpse of gold behind him – his jacket, thrown to the ground and stomped on in a fit of juvenile anger – and shivered. Hours ago, he had stood before that same mirror as the picture-perfect groom dressed in gold, ready to restore and uphold the honour of his family name. Even Clary had said he looked handsome. That image was now long gone, replaced by the shell of disgrace he was now.

Alec had been ready to give his future to his family. He had stood by the altar, faithful to his decision even when Isabelle and Jace had voiced their disapproval but even that hadn't been enough. Before he could utter the words and bear the runes that would unite their families, Lydia had searched his face. Whatever she saw had caused her resolve to falter. She stepped back, her head bowed – had it been in fear or guilt? Alec didn't know. But she had raised her palm to his cheek and smiled at him. There was kindness in her eyes when she had whispered the words that collapsed the remnants of his already bruised heart. " _We can't do this Alec– You– I can't do this. I'm sorry._ "

The aftermath of his failed nuptials was now a blur, but it had inevitably led him here, standing before his reflection in a futile attempt to understand. He squinted at the mirror, desperately trying to see what Lydia had seen. He looked ragged with exhaustion, but that was nothing new. He scowled at the man staring back at him, all hard lines and empty eyes.

 _Empty eyes_.

His eyes were dark and lost. There was no emotion left to see. The thought of it made him laugh from the sheer ridiculousness of it all – it rang hollow and empty in the quiet.

One week. That was how long it had taken for his life to collapse around him. His bond with Jace was a reed in an unceasing windstorm – bending so far back that it would probably never stand tall again. He'd watched Isabelle walk away from him, listened to his parents as they tried to justify their lies and even though he knew none of this was his fault, he felt no less responsible. Even Magnus had taken something from him, staining the one memory he had held on so tightly to, of the last time he had smiled.

The wedding was the one thing left in his power to do to save his family, and now that he had failed, there was nothing left. Magnus had help secure his sister's freedom and the Lightwood name stood proud thanks to Jace and the Mortal Cup. His family was whole – and he had had no part in saving it. A small part of him knew he was being melodramatic, but an even bigger voice questioned his purpose. What good was he when all his effort had amounted to nothing more than that of an uninvolved bystander?

He weathered the blows like a boulder. Every blow, he had taken – Jace questioning his loyalty, his parents questioning his ability, his sister questioning every move he made – and withstood. But even the strongest rock will yield to the roar of the sea, and he was what there was left – a shattered reflection of the man he had always thought he ought to be.

There was a small voice in his mind that wasn't his own. Familiar and oddly comforting. He'd heard the words before; the same words that had started him on his path in the first place. _Maybe you should start living for yourself_.

Alec moved to the open window and stared at the dark haze that blanketed the city. He could see the curb from his window. Mundanes walked by without sparing a second glance at the old abandoned church they thought his home to be. Sounds of indiscriminate yelling and laughter sent a pang of heaviness through his body. It felt like an age had passed since the last time he'd laughed or smiled – even his anger had quickly floundered into guilt and disappointment.

Tired of the suffocating isolation of his room, Alec felt drawn to the open sky, a wordless escape from within his spiral of self-pity.

Before he could think otherwise, Alec ripped the tie from his neck and stripped himself bare, leaving a trail of clothes towards his closet. He emerged in his gear, pausing at the foot of his bed where his bow lay flat on the black ornate chest. He scanned the room; there was a quiver of arrows hanging from the hooks behind the door, half hidden amongst his jackets, and unused seraph blades haphazardly strewn about making him wonder if he'd been subconsciously preparing himself for this.

To go against the conditioning he'd been subjected to since birth.

To accept and act on the urge.

To flee.

He gathered his things, strapping his weapons into place with deadly expertise. Despite his compromised emotional state, Alec knew the world he lived in; that even if he couldn't protect the people he loved, he could at least protect himself. He wasn't stupid.

Alec crouched on the window sill, pausing as his earlier words spun in his mind.

 _Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the stupidest Nephilim of all?_

Alec's strangled laugh was lost into the night. The actions he'd taken over the course of the past week played in his mind but nothing had changed. He had done the right thing; he had followed the law, respected the Clave. But he had failed his family, or maybe his family had failed him – the distinction wasn't quite so simple. Still, those decisions had brought him to this moment, crouched on his window sill and staring into the unknown like a lifeline.

He didn't know where he would go, and for once he didn't care. He had ruled himself with his head for long enough. Maybe he'd stroll around Central Park, maybe he'd go see Magnus, or maybe he'd venture forth into the world and never come back. Whatever his fate, he suppressed his need to think it through, to strategise, to know every step of the way. This wasn't a military operation. This was him letting himself go, and hopefully, letting himself live.

He'd hold onto the one thing he knew: the answer to his question. His uncertainty remained, but it no longer paralysed him. Powered by his personal conviction, Alec took one last look around his room and stepped forward into the abyss.

 _Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the stupidest Nephilim of all?_

 _Not me._

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for reading. Please consider leaving a review._


End file.
